Dog days of summer: Watermelon salad recipe and how to store lettuce

It was official last week in the Northeast. The dog days of summer have arrived. Strawberries came and went at lightning speed. Too much rain, too much heat. Onward into summer. Then, just as I was getting a handle on the heat and humidity while harassing Man of the House about the air conditioners that needed to go into the bedroom windows, along comes a dreary, cool day like today that has me reaching for a pair of socks and a sweatshirt. 

No matter, the heat will return, and with it, a craving for something perky to keep the senses alert. This watermelon salad is what I crave on the hottest days. Salty feta, sweet and refreshing watermelon. sprightly mint. Every bite says, come on, wake up. It's good to eat with grilled fish. On a hot night, who wants to mess around? Just throw something on the grill and make a cool salad. Have a gin and tonic in between, and let the cold rosé flow.

Here's the rub with salad: you have to wash the lettuce. Unless you buy what a friend of mine calls "yuppie greens." I am suspicious of cellophane-wrapped produce. Full disclosure: I am occasionally seduced by it. It seems so easy! It is so easy. It also usually smells of must (don't get me started on so-called baby carrots) and contains wilted, gummy leaves, too sad to be revived. The truth is, washing lettuce is a pain in the butt. That is why I was ready to kiss the feet of the same friend (of yuppie greens fame) who went to the farmers' market, bought an assortment of lettuce, washed it, dried it and brought it to me in a box. Who does that? 

Which brings me to what you can do for yourself (or perhaps for a friend who is recovering from an illness or needing some cheering up.) That box of lettuce was incentive enough for me to follow suit this week. I stopped by the market on Sunday, and though the lettuce looked a bit flagged and uncheerful, a soak in some cool water revived it. Here is my lettuce washing tutorial (this is a blog called Cooking Lessons, after all.)

How to wash and store lettuce. (Seriously?) Yes, seriously. Read it!

If you are using a salad spinner (I recommend it), first, remove the insert. Fill the bowl with cool water. Detach the lettuce leaves from the core, leaving them in large pieces. This is totally backwards from the way I used my salad spinner for years. BUT, those little gritty bits of dirt that collect at the bottom of the stems need to be swished around in a large volume of water. So swish them around (don't crowd the spinner bowl) and wait a few seconds. The dirt will sink to the bottom. Carefully lift the leaves out of the bowl and place them in the insert. Dump the water out of the bowl. Repeat if the leaves are particularly sandy or gritty. You will notice that the dirt has collected on the bottom. Rinse the bowl and replace the insert. Spin the lettuce until dry. Line a plastic shoe box with paper towels. (Square boxes fit most conveniently in the fridge.) Fill the box halfway with clean lettuce, and add another layer of paper towels. More lettuce, topped off with more paper towels. Don't over-fill the box; better to use two that are loosely filled.  Put the lid on and store in the fridge. Use as needed, tearing the leaves into bite-size pieces when you make the salad. If the leaves remain large, they are less likely to wilt and brown around the edges. The greens should last about a week. 

This is not so much a recipe as an outline for a salad. Improvise. The key elements are the watermelon, feta, mint, and lettuce. If you want to add a few more things, go ahead, but keep them to a minimum. I added black olives because I craved salt, and pumpkin seeds, well, just because. Not necessary.

Watermelon salad with feta and mint recipe

For 2 people (just make more for more people, but you knew that)

1 large handful of washed greens

About 1/4 cup fresh mint leaves

2 to 3 tablespoons vinaigrette

Salt and pepper, to taste

About 1 heaping cup of watermelon cubes

About 1/3 cup crumbled feta (not too crumbled)

About 1/4 cup pitted black olives, such as Kalamata

1 to 2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds

1. Toss the greens and mint with vinaigrette. Taste, and season with salt and pepper. Spread on a serving platter.

2. Arrange the watermelon on top of the greens. Sprinkle the feta, olives and pumpkin seeds on top. Drizzle with a little more vinaigrette. 

I never met a bottled dressing that I liked, and it is just plain crazy to buy it, when it is so easy to make. Spend a king's ransom on the vinegar and olive oil. It is a luxury that you can afford. I love all the Banyuls vinegars from Formaggio Kitchen, a local shop that ships to you if you are not close by. I also use a good Greek olive oil that I discovered at my favorite wine store. It can be ordered here. The main thing is to seek out quality producers. 

Really good vinaigrette recipe

Makes about 1/2 cup

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar, such as Banyuls muscat vinegar (very mild)

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

5 to 6 tablespoons olive oil

1. Whisk the vinegar, salt and pepper together in a small bowl. Gradually whisk in the olive oil, to taste.

You may also want to try
Green goddess dressing from Simply Recipes
Caesar salad from A Food Centric Life  
Ginger sesame miso dressing from Beyond Salmon

Strawberry rhubarb pie recipe: the folly of perfection

Perfection and pie crust are two words that, when arranged side by side, make me want to tear out my hair. The perfect pie crust! The only pie crust recipe you’ll ever need! No more tears: perfect pie crust every time! Foolproof pie dough! These are bait and switch words. They hook you and slowly reel you into the madness of trying to achieve perfection.

Can I let you in on a secret? The perfect pie is the one that you make today or tomorrow, filled with some gorgeous summer fruit, and shared with your family and friends. There are a gazillion ways to approach making a pie, and that many recipes to go with them.

Do not be afraid.

Here’s a fact that I have noted before: I have made at least 2,000 pies. I stopped counting after that. Luckily I did not eat all of them, or I would not be here today to tell the tale. My first efforts were not so stellar, but I soldiered on—it was my job—and eventually I came up with a formula that works. It’s a process. Keep going.

Oh, but that hasn’t stopped me from taking the bait. Yes, I am that fool in the kitchen seeking foolproof. As I worked through some difficult times recently I embarked on yet another pie project. Is there really such a thing as a perfect pie crust? Is there really a perfect chocolate chip cookie? Is there really a perfect husband? That depends. Or in other words, of course not. But it was good therapy.

My curiosity was piqued after reading about Kenji Lopez-Alt’s vodka pie crust, which he developed for Cook’s Magazine. I actually never got around to that one because I found his newest method on Serious Eats. I tried Kenji’s method and about seven other different pie crust variations. I baked off samples (and forgot to take photos, sorry) to compare them. I also froze the dough, so there are more pies in my immediate future. The results? Well, they were all pretty darn good.

I liked Kenji’s a lot, so I am sharing my version using his method. It was crumbly and flaky. But I also liked my old standby version, and truth be told, it was hard to discern too much difference. If you are newly embarking on pie or are just an obsessively curious cook like myself, then read his post—it has some great insights into the science of crust-making and explains why Kenji’s method works. If you just want to dig in, then skip the reading. The main thing is to dig in. There’s a lot to say about reaching for perfection, but we’ll keep it to pie, for now. Perfection is in that moment when your kitchen fills with the aroma of pie goodness, and everyone who partakes of the result is your new best friend. I don’t think you can ask for more than that.

Strawberries are at their peak right now, so I took advantage of them to make my most favorite (redundancy necessary here) pie in the whole world. I am not kidding. You will have the best results if you use a scale, but it you don’t have one, don’t sweat it. Use the fluff and spoon method of measuring: Fluff up the flour in the canister with a spoon, and then spoon it into a dry measuring cup so it mounds on top. Scrape the excess back into the flour canister with a knife. I also used some shortening in the recipe for tenderness, since there is no water content in it. For an all-butter dough, replace the shortening with butter. I have given instructions on how to roll dough between 2 pieces of parchment, which is quite easy especially if you are new to pie making. You can check out another rolling method here. And now ladies and gentlemen, I hereby present the cheater, anti-perfectionist lattice crust.

Pie is just so much more than a tart. A tart is a beautiful thing, don’t get me wrong. But a pie? A pie answers the soul’s call for wonder.

Strawberry rhubarb pie with a cheater lattice crust: the recipe

For the flaky pie crust (Kenji’s method)

Makes enough for one 9-inch double crusted pie

13.5 ounces (3 cups) all-purpose flour
1.5 ounces (3 tablespoons) sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons fine sea salt
8 ounces (2 sticks) cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch thick slices
1.5 ounces (3 tablespoons) trans-fat free shortening, cut into pieces*
5 tablespoons ice water
1 tablespoon lemon juice

*Substitute an equal amount of unsalted butter if you want to make an all-butter pie crust

1. Whisk the flour, sugar and sea salt together in a mixing bowl. Set aside 1 cup of the dry ingredients.

2. Tip the flour mixture into the bowl of a food processor fitted with the metal blade. Spread the butter and shortening pieces on top. Pulse the machine 15 to 20 times, or until the dough forms clumps. Transfer it back to the mixing bowl. (By hand, use a pastry cutter or a hand-held mixer, but be prepared to put in more time.)

3. Add the reserved 1 cup flour to the mixing bowl and with your hands, toss with the clumps until flour is well distributed. Sprinkle the ice water and lemon juice over the top. With your hands, toss like a salad, until dough comes together in larger clumps.

4. Tip the clumps onto the counter and divide into 2 piles, one slightly larger than the other. Press each pile into 2 flat, round disks and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate for 1 1/2 hours, or up to 1 day. Wrapped in several layers of plastic and foil, the dough can be frozen for up to one month.

For the pie

Makes one 9-inch pie

Pie dough (see above)

1 1/2 pints fresh strawberries, hulled and halved to make 4 cups

About 4 stalks (8 ounces) rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch slices to make 2 cups

1 cup blond cane sugar, and a little for the top of the pie

1/3 cup flour

1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt

1 tablespoon butter, cut into small pieces

1 egg, beaten with 1 tablespoon water

Coarse sugar for garnish, optional

1. Have on hand one 9-inch pie pan.

2. Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Let it sit at room temperature for about 10 minutes to soften. Set an oven rack in the center of the oven and heat the oven to 375 degrees F.

3. Cut two 14-inch long pieces of parchment paper. Lightly flour the dough. Set the smaller disk of dough on 1 sheet and set the second sheet on top. Roll into a 1/8-inch thick circle. (If the dough has become soft while rolling, transfer it to a baking sheet (still between parchment) and refrigerate for about 10 minutes to make it is easier to handle.) Pull off the top sheet of parchment and flip the dough over the pie pan. Pull off the top sheet of parchment. Fit the dough into the sides and bottom, lifting it at the edges to avoid stretching it. With a paring knife, trim the dough so that it is even with the edge of the pan; refrigerate.

4. Roll the second disk of dough in the same way, into a 1/8-inch thick circle. Slide onto a baking sheet and refrigerate while you prepare the filling.

5. Toss the strawberries, rhubarb, sugar, flour, and salt together in a large bowl. Transfer to the pie shell and dot with butter. Brush the rim with water.

6. Slide the parchment paper with the second round of dough onto a cutting board and lift off the top piece of parchment. Now, for the cheater lattice crust, no weaving: With a pizza cutter or a sharp knife, cut 1-inch wide strips. Lay 5 strips on top of the pie, using the shorter pieces for the edges of the pie. Turn the pie 45-degrees, and lay 5 more strips across the pie. Trim the strips so that they are even with the edge of the pan. Cover the rim all around with more strips of dough. Crimp the edges or press down with the tines of a fork. Brush with beaten egg. Sprinkle with coarse sugar, if you like

7. Set the pie on a baking sheet and bake for 80 to 90 minutes, or until the crust is golden and the filling is bubbling. If the crust browns before the filling is done, cover the pie loosely with foil.

8. Transfer the pie to a rack to cool for at least 45 minutes before serving.

Are you pie-phobic? Ask me questions. I swear to tell the truth.

 Process until large clumps form.

Dump into a bowl, and add the reserved flour. Toss together with your hands. Sprinkle water and lemon juice over the dough, and toss again with your hands , like you are tossing a salad, until clumps almost form a dough. 

Tip the clumpy dough onto the countertop and form it into two piles, one slightly smaller than the other. The small clump is for the bottom crust.

Gently press the dough into disks. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 1 1/2 hours to allow dough to completely hydrate.

Lightly flour the dough and place it between 2 sheets of parchment. Roll into a 1/8-inch thick circle (about 11-12 inches in diameter)

If the dough has softened during rolling, slide it onto a baking sheet and refrigerate for 10 minutes. Peel off the top sheet of parchment. Turn the dough upside down and lift off the second sheet of parchment. Fit it into the pie pan, lifting at the edges to avoid stretching the dough. Trim with a paring knife or scissors. Brush the the rim of the pie with water.

Use a rolling pin as a guide to cut 1-inch wide strips.

Fill the pie. Lay the strips over the pie and trim the edges. Lay more strips all around the pie. Crimp or press with a fork. Isn't it pretty? Brush with egg wash. Don't get attached to its perfection! Put it on a parchment lined baking sheet and bake at 375 degrees for 80 to 90 minutes.

An appetite for life: strawberry mango ice cream recipe, for Marina Keegan

It’s strawberry season in New England. Fat, juicy strawberries—not those bland, watered-down versions that we’ve been trying to pass off as fruit all winter—are now ours for the taking. They are sweet, luscious, full of life, full of intensity. We must savor them while we can. Their season is short.

We don’t think of ourselves as having a season. We go along with our ups and downs, with our ins and outs, with our personal little dramas. If we are lucky and if we choose it, we grow up and have children. We hug those children, feed them, watch them grow. They bring us immeasurable joy and sometimes pain. Then, if we are very, very lucky, if we are careful not to interfere too much, if we guide them lightly without burdening them with our own expectations and unfulfilled dreams, our children become passionate, engaged and joyful human beings. They have an appetite for life.

I want to discover the doubters in the shadows of the Taj, learn from the pilgrims pious only to mankind. I want to eat mangos with the orphans at the Kurukshetra Humanist School and tunnel the atheist transcripts in the ancient libraries of Delhi. I want to trace India’s rivers and railways for non-theist seeds – seeds planted by Gora and Roy and the authors of Hindi tradition. I want to go to India because I’m curious. Curious about the country and curious about myself. Curious about the crescendo of a secular movement for social change that’s setting a global precedent; a precedent with potential to alter the future of the nation and the world.

These are the words that my son’s close friend Marina wrote two years ago in her grant application to fund a study of Humanism in India for the summer. She got the grant; and she invited Luke along to travel with her. They shared a perfect set of qualities that engender good travel and enduring friendship: one part adventurer, one part intellectual seeker, one part fun-lover, one part possessor of humor and wit, all dashed together with a healthy measure of ebb and flow that make travel enjoyable for two people in close, often crazy, but never boring circumstances.

Her  words recall to me a life before. Do you remember? That time before the trappings of adulthood started to close in and make us forget the limitless sense of possibility that Marina had? The trappings that, if we are not watchful, will very subtly dull our appetite for living. With a few more years on us, the weight of our anxieties, problems, and past experiences start to accumulate, and we forget. We forget to take a bite out of every day. We forget to wake up and look around and say: Wow. Look at this. Look at all this. “This” is absolutely wonderful. “This” is absolutely horrendous. “This” is everything and nothing all at once. Wow.

Marina Keegan died in a car accident just five days after her graduation from Yale. She was about to move to Brooklyn to share an apartment with Luke and some college friends. She was already exceptionally accomplished as a writer, but it was just the beginning. She intended to start a job at the New Yorker in a few weeks.  Her play will be produced in Central Park this summer. And much, much more.

Like the strawberries in season right now, Marina was intense, juicy, sweet. One of her professors, Deb Margolin, described her:

Marina Keegan and Death are two incompatible concepts for me. It is a parallax vast and unbridgeable. This was a young woman of outrageous intellect, probity, humor, hope. Her brilliance had a restive and relentless quality. She was all legs, all brains.

She was also immensely kind. She agonized over so many issues: “How can I eat at Taco Bell if it can save a child in Africa?” Marina saw the mess of our world yet still remained hopeful, still wished to make it a better place. Above all, Marina knew how to be a friend.

Marina’s last essay, The Opposite of Loneliness, has reverberated around the internet, as have so many of the words she left behind. You can read them here. I hope you will. I hope they will change you, wake you up. I hope you will take a bite out of life today and relish it, and say to yourself, Wow. I hope, as Marina so fervently wished, you will  “do something to this world.” I hope, as she implores, you will BEGIN from wherever you are now.

We don’t know the length of the season that is allotted us. I hope we can all be more like Marina.

She had an appetite for life.

Marina in Jaipur

On the Ganges

Desert near the Pakistani border

At the Beatles' ashram

Preparing an 'American meal' at the orphanage

Strawberry Mango Ice Cream Recipe, for Marina

Makes about 6 cups

This recipe is a bit free form. It started as frozen yogurt, but needed more richness, so I added cream. The yogurt gives it a little tartness, but you could use all cream. Sweeten to taste—you  may want to add more honey or agave syrup. The mangoes, yogurt and rosewater were meant to evoke India.

1 quart strawberries, halved

2 to 3 mangoes to make about 2 cups of mango chunks (frozen will do)

1/2 cup agave syrup

1/4 cup honey

1/2 cup whole milk plain yogurt

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

1 tablespoon rosewater, or to taste

Puree all ingredients in a blender. Chill until cold. Churn in an ice cream maker.